


Valonqar

by Becca_Reyna



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cersei finally gets her comeuppance, F/M, Kindy Creepy J/C incesty-ness, Mix of Show and Book, TW Rape/ Non-con, TW abuse/ violence, TW for Incest, spoilers for S6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becca_Reyna/pseuds/Becca_Reyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei has known the words of Maggy's Prophecy for almost as long as she can remember. She's deliberated the meaning for decades, and in the end even she can't predict the truth of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valonqar

**Author's Note:**

> A little drabble based on an offhand comment someone made on the ASOIAF reddit. This fic contains scenes of a sexual, a violent, and an uncomfortable nature, and spoilers for Season 6.

The door creaked open and Westeros’ One and only Queen turned to look at the incoming visitor, ready to berate them for not knocking and behead whichever of the Queensguard had allowed them in. Her scowl faltered when her brother stepped through the door, dressed in the full Lannister regalia, gloves covering that ridiculous golden hand of his.

“I thought you’d already left to meet the fleet at the Bay, like I ordered.”

“Yes, well.” He stepped inside her chambers, and pushed the door closed behind him, nudging the latch into place. He turned to face her with a smirk. “There was one final matter I wanted to take care of before I left.”

The Queen raised an eyebrow, taking another mouthful of the Arbour red in her glass before placing it down on the side table. “Oh? And what would be so important that it would necessitate disregarding the orders of one’s Queen?”

Jamie sauntered forward, placing a hand on each of her hips and pulling her towards him. “I felt it necessary to ensure that all of Her Majesty’s needs were met before I left. This was the last on my list.”

He crushed his lips to hers and her eyes widened slightly, startled. The kiss was ferocious, wilder than Jaime ever usually went. His teeth pulled at her lip, as his hands roamed all over her body, pulling and tearing at her fine dress.

_Fine_. She thought, _if it’s going to be like that…_

She responded in kind, pulling his head closer and tugging at his hair. He pushed her back against the bed until her knees hit the edge then pulled back and looked her over in assessment.

“Too much clothing.” He muttered. “I want you wearing less than the poorest pauper in Fleas Bottom.”

He grabbed the bodice of her gown and ripped it down as hard as he could, the pearls along the neckline bouncing off and rolling down onto the floor. Her breasts fell free, and he tugged the gown sharply downwards, leaving it to pool at her feet.

“Jaime, what do you think you’re doing?” she asked, but he raised his hand and backhanded her across the face. She fell back onto the bed, tears building in her eyes from the sting. She raised her head towards him again, furious. “How _dare_ you?”

He knelt on the bed, straddling her hips and pinning her down. “How dare _I_? You” he punctuated this with another clout “let a sadistic little shit sit on the Iron throne. You” again, he hit her, and this time she tasted blood. She struggled against him, but in vain, “played with Sansa Stark like she was a doll. You helped orchestrate the Red Wedding.” He paused, then reached down to whisper in her ear. “You killed Ned Stark.”

He sat back on his haunches and began to pull off his gloves, whilst she looked back at him in confusion. “Ned Stark?” she murmured, confused, and then she caught sight of his hands. Both of them; perfect and shiny as they had been before Father had sent him off into the Riverlands to be mutilated. Her eyes widened in shock. “Your hand!”

Jaime smiled, a cruel, sadistic smile that looked entirely too much like Joffrey, and brought his right hand up in front of his face, turning it carefully from side to side.

“Yes. Yes, I understand that the Kingslayer has lost the hand he used to push my brother out the window. Alas, I was only willing to go so far for this disguise. Cutting off my own hand for one evening,” he traced a finger down her cheek and she snarled, biting at it.

He chucked, “Oh, Cersei. You never change.”

“Who in the seven hells are you?” she spat.

“Why, at the moment, I am Jaime Lannister. But before this, I have been Cat of the Canals, Blind Beth, Mercy. For a while I was No-one.” He traced his hand over her chest, digging in his nails and leaving raw channels in her flesh. “But you have known me. Once. When I was a weak little girl, blind to the true cruelties of the world. But you and your sadistic son opened my eyes to that. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

The person that was not Jaime smirked and pulled his knife from its sheath at his belt. Cersei’s eyes widened and she squirmed again, but his knees were trapping her and her arms. She inched her arm up as far as she could, and grabbed at his crotch in a final attempt to regain some control over the situation. Her eyes widened and the person that was not Jaime frowned.

“Yes, well. In the same way that I cannot lose a limb, I cannot grow something that has never been there before. All magic has its limits.” He shrugged. “Still, this disguise did the job.”

His knife began to carve a pattern from shoulder to chest and she screamed. “Scream as much as you want, the guards are asleep and the only people who might help you down at the bay. You’re all on your own, _Your Grace_. In more ways than one, I suppose.”

Cersei had lost the battle with her will, and tears were streaming down her cheeks as hot blood pulsed over her chest.

“You’ve lost Joffrey.” He accentuated with another sharp slice, “Myrcella. Tommen. Your father. Even your brother, after that stunt with the Sept. What do you truly have, Cersei Lannister? A crown?” The knife was removed from her skin and Cersei sighed in relief, as the man plucked the crown from her head, ripping more than a few hairs away in the process. He surveyed it for a moment, and then cast it across the room. “And now, you truly have nothing.” The man’s eyes glinted grey and Cersei felt a flash of recognition. It took her a second to place it, but she soon realised that, for a moment, that man had had Stark eyes, eerily like Lyanna’s had once been.

The man cast down his dagger and placed his hands on Cersei’s neck. Her eyes bulged and she began to thrash again. He remained steady, not thrown by her violent movements.

“The North remembers, your Grace.” He sneered, begin to squeeze. Cersei felt her throat constrict, and her vision began to cloud as the man squeezed harder. Even as she struggled for breath, the only thing her mind could conjure was that night, so many years ago.

“ _Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, she said. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you._ “

Cersei’s eyes were losing their light and Arya knew it would only be seconds before the life was gone. In her peripheral vision, she saw something light up the sky out of the window and she glanced away, only to see dragon flame spread through the sky. The Dragon Queen had landed.

She looked back to the Lion Queen and saw that her eyes were glassy, the last of life drained from them. She stood up, worked the kinks from her neck and let go of Jaime Lannister’s body. She briskly removed the Lannister armour she had been wearing, now too heavy and too big, and stripped to the shirt and breeches that she was wearing underneath. They were both a little baggy, but the belt from the Lannister uniform looped around kept things on tight enough. She poured herself some of the wine, and then poured some over her hands, washing off the Lannister’s blood. She moved over to the window, and observed the battle, illuminated as it was by the flash of the dragons.

She’d played her part tonight. Once Daenerys reached the Keep there would be nothing to prevent her from taking the throne. She sipped from the wine, and contemplated her options. She wasn’t going to make much of a difference on her own in the battle and she doubted that Daenerys would really need her once she’d settled. There was really little need for her to stay in King’s Landing.

Perhaps it was time to go home.

Arya opened the window, climbed onto the ledge, and leapt.


End file.
